


Twelve Days of Draco Malfoy

by Kantayra



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-10
Updated: 2010-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-19 01:45:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry tries to spend the holiday season at Malfoy Manor as a Ministry official. If only Malfoy's wardrobe would stop relentlessly seducing him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twelve Days of Draco Malfoy

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas to kallysten! Thanks for being an awesome friend for so many years! :D

December Fourteenth: Day One

Harry had had grave misgivings about spending twelve days at Malfoy Manor. True, it would make Harry’s scheduling a lot easier; every year the Ministry held all its holiday events in one location for the convenience of the Ministry organizers, and somehow Draco Malfoy had won that prestigious honor this yuletide. So, given how many events Harry had to attend this season, it _did_ make sense for him to accept a room in Malfoy Manor for the duration of the holiday season. However, given Harry’s latest tendency to walk straight into walls at the Ministry whenever Malfoy passed, that didn’t mean that it was a _good_ idea.

And, when Harry saw what Malfoy was _wearing_ , he decided it was a downright _bad_ idea.

“Harry Potter,” Malfoy smiled graciously, “I’m delighted you could make it.”

“M-Malfoy.” Harry tried _really hard_ to keep his eyes on Malfoy’s face; it was a futile effort. Malfoy’s shirt was sheer and made out of some kind of silky fabric that clung to every inch of Malfoy’s lean musculature. Harry could make out the lines of a firm stomach, square shoulders, and the slightest rosy hint of a nipple.

“Please, you are my guest for the season. It wouldn’t do to stand by formalities.” Malfoy’s diaphanous shirt slid over what looked to be milky-soft skin. “Call me Draco.”

“D-D-Draco,” Harry stuttered even more.

Because, now that Harry had seen a hint of one of those pink nipples, he couldn’t help but try to see more. However, both delicious, little buds were currently entirely concealed by the two, strategically placed snakes – each with deep-crimson, iridescent scales – that held Malfoy’s top on. As Harry gaped, one of the snakes twined about Malfoy’s torso in a loving caress.

Harry desperately fought the urge to groan out loud.

“Harry,” Malfoy practically purred in response. The snake covering Malfoy’s left nipple flicked its tail teasingly over it, allowing Harry only the occasional glimpse.

Fortunately, before Harry could do something thoroughly embarrassing – like order the snakes in Parseltongue to strip Malfoy naked in front of his eyes – the Floo chimed again.

“Excuse me, but I have other guests to greet,” Malfoy said firmly. “The fairies will show you to your room.”

Harry found himself suddenly surrounded by red and green fairies that flitted about before his eyes and leaned slightly toward the door to the hallway. However, it took Harry a few moments to process this because Malfoy was walking away from him, and Harry finally looked down far enough to realize that, under the gauzy shirt, Malfoy was wearing skin-tight, forest-green, dragon-skin trousers.

Harry _did_ groan aloud at the sight of Malfoy’s perfect arse shifting underneath the clinging leather.

Oh yes, living this close to such certain, damning temptation had _definitely_ been a mistake.

***

December Fifteenth: Day Two

The second day was filled with a series of informal luncheons and teatimes with various foreign ministers who dropped by to pay the Ministry a final visit, before apparating to their home countries for the holiday season.

Harry had breakfast with the Finnish ambassador, brunch with the Turkish liaison, lunch with the ministers of foreign affairs from Zambia and Nigeria, tea with the Australian undersecretary, and then another luncheon with the staff of the Spanish embassy. The entire time, he tried to stop himself from drooling over Malfoy and – he was fairly certain – failed quite miserably.

Malfoy’s definition of ‘informal’ apparently consisted of a slim, royal-purple tunic with fawn, suede gloves and boots. Knowing Malfoy, the suede was probably criosphinx-skin or griffin-skin or something like that. The gloves and boots tapered into thin, suede strips above Malfoy’s wrists and ankles, which then were wound into intricate Celtic knots that encircled Malfoy’s calves and forearms. Every time Malfoy shifted, new glimpses of pale skin could be seen between the gaps in the kidskin.

The outfit reminded Harry of a gazelle or deer or some other graceful forest creature, which in turn made the metaphoric lion within Harry want to chase, pounce, and _devour_. Malfoy had topped off the whole ensemble with silver buckles and belt-clasps and a silver hoop earring in his left ear.

Once, when Harry was trying to be surreptitious about his ogling, the silver earring suddenly yawned and stretched its wings, and Harry practically choked on his tea when he realized that it was actually a tiny, impossibly slender, silver dragon threaded through Malfoy’s earlobe. Harry would have sworn that Malfoy’s dragon earring actually _winked_ at him before wrapping his tail around its nose once more and disguising itself as a simple hoop.

Needless to say, the Australian undersecretary was a bit put out that Harry hadn’t managed to hear a word he’d said.

***

December Sixteenth: Day Three

“I’m not going,” Harry insisted. “Malfoy’s trying to kill me.”

Hermione gave Harry a stern look. “This ball has been a yearly wizarding tradition since the 800s, and Malfoy has barely even had time to speak to you the last two days, with all his hosting duties.”

That last part shouldn’t have stung Harry as much as it did. “I don’t see why it’s so important,” Harry said instead. “It’s just a bunch of snooty, rich wizards.” He looked to Ron hopefully for reassurance.

Ron tugged on the collar of his black, formal robes. Aside from being quite a bit longer to encompass Ron’s tall frame, they were virtually the same as Harry’s. “Sorry, mate. If I have to go, so do you.”

“But who _knows_ what Malfoy will be wearing?” Harry groaned and flopped back on the bed. After two days of being almost continuously hard at the thought of Malfoy in – and out – of various costumes, Harry thought he might explode.

Ron sighed in that way he’d taken to lately, which signified, “I sympathize with your pain, but _really_? _Malfoy_? Have you lost your mind?” Ron left that topic of debate alone, however, and settled for, “It’s a formal ball. He’ll have to wear full robes, anyway.”

Harry perked up a little at this, although another part of him (particularly the part in his trousers) was disappointed. “I suppose…” he finally agreed warily. At least, he figured, he had Ron and Hermione’s (somewhat baffled) support, no matter what happened.

What happened, of course, was that Malfoy was wearing black, formal robes like everyone else. Even Malfoy’s dragon earring was behaving itself, in proper hoop form, although it was now charmed black to match the rest of Malfoy’s ensemble.

Harry almost relaxed until he stepped closer and noticed the tiny pinpricks of light in Malfoy’s robes. The lights twinkled just like the night stars, and then Harry realized that Malfoy’s robes _were_ charmed to show the night sky. Harry looked deeper and, suddenly, as if Malfoy’s robes had trapped him in a telescopic lens, Harry’s gaze zoomed in on constellations, galaxies, and comets. Stars were born and died in fiery supernovas, and Harry found himself enraptured – trapped – by the charms embedded into Malfoy’s robes. Specifically (and entirely coincidentally, Harry tried to convince himself), in the charms over Malfoy’s firm behind.

Or at least, that _was_ where Harry was staring until Malfoy turned around, saw Harry, and favored him with a sly smile. “Harry,” Malfoy said smoothly, “we still haven’t had a chance to catch up. I was so sorry to hear that you and Ginerva broke off the engagement. What have you been doing with yourself since?”

Harry’s mind vainly scrambled for _anything_ other than, “I think I just saw the creation of the cosmos in your arse.” Harry’s manners may not have been perfect, but even _he_ knew that one was a _faux pas_.

***

December Seventeenth: Day Four

What Harry would have liked to do that day was hide in his room, wank until he got this weird _thing_ for Malfoy entirely out of his system, and then spend a nice afternoon away from all Malfoy-related temptations. However, that day was the Annual Ministry Banquet for War Orphans, and not even Harry was insensitive enough to try to ditch _that_. Especially since he’d been unanimously voted to be Santa again this year.

Fortunately, Malfoy had given Harry something of a reprieve that day. Of course, Malfoy still looked gorgeous in his vest and trousers, which were charmed to look like the autumn woods. Leaves of red, orange, gold, and umber drifted down Malfoy’s body every so often, teasing Harry gently with their path down the delectable length of Malfoy’s thighs. However, at least Malfoy didn’t have any skin showing; Harry took his blessings where he could get them.

The distribution of donated presents was actually going quite well, and children’s screams and laughter filled the drawing room where the tree and presents had been set up. Harry handed a large, blue package to a young, dark-haired girl who was missing one of her front teeth, and for the first time in quite a while, felt like his usual, wholesome self. He hadn’t been in danger of getting an erection for a good hour now, and it was something of a blessed relief.

Of course, just as Harry thought he was out of the woods (both figuratively and more literally, as it pertained to Malfoy’s garb and how very much Harry _would_ like to be inside it), when Harry happened to glance across the room to where Andromeda Tonks and Malfoy were conversing. As Harry watched, little Teddy reached out with a grubby hand and made a grab for the now-gold dragon in Malfoy’s ear.

The dragon, unwilling to accept such indignities, proceeded to scamper up the side of Malfoy’s ear to escape Teddy’s fingers. Harry was struck suddenly by the thoroughly inappropriate image of trying to ferret out that dragon himself, only with tongue instead of fingers. He envisioned a merry chase, with the dragon leading the way, and the delicate shell of Malfoy’s ear as their makeshift Quidditch pitch. Harry thought that the dragon might even be a prize he wouldn’t mind not catching, because the taste of Malfoy’s skin would be reward enough in itself.

Harry stared at Malfoy’s ear in a daze, as Teddy let out squeals of delight and chased the dragon all in and around Malfoy’s ear. Finally, Andromeda finally pulled Teddy back, and Harry was snapped from his daydream.

Saved but wary, the dragon cautiously circled Malfoy’s ear before settling back into place and forming a perfectly elegant hoop once more. And Harry couldn’t help but wonder if it would stay like that for Harry, serene and still, while Harry thrust his tongue in and out of that hoop.

Or, of course, whether Malfoy himself would tolerate it if Harry thrust his tongue through a different ring altogether.

***

December Eighteenth: Day Five

Harry whimpered as he and Ron stood outside the ballroom doors for the semi-formal Aurors’ Christmas party. Ron gave Harry a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Be strong, mate.”

Harry reluctantly followed Ron inside. The interior was strewn with holly and garlands of silver and gold. Pixies of similar color flitted about the room, filling the ballroom with their warming glow. There was an enormous spruce set up at one end of the hall, elaborately decorated with snow and icicles, which appeared different colors depending on which pixie was closest to them at any given moment. String instruments had been charmed to play a series of classic, wizarding, holiday tunes at the far end, and hovered in mid-air currently in the middle of a lively dance number. Aurors mingled throughout the festivities, sampling the fine foods from one of the long tables or dancing in the floor space at the center of the ballroom.

And there, in the middle, was Draco Malfoy, looking as if he’d been _born_ to host an event of this caliber.

“I can’t look,” Harry whimpered some more.

Beside him, Ron snickered.

Harry had a moment of hope then that perhaps Malfoy wouldn’t be _too_ unbearably sexy this evening. Cautiously, he took a peek, and it was his immediate undoing.

Malfoy’s theme for the evening seemed to be metals. No doubt he’d chosen the motif to maximize the effect of the pixies flitting about. Malfoy was wearing a shift that looked to be made of liquid silver. It was held in place by half a dozen solid-gold snakes, which were wrapped all around Malfoy’s torso and limbs, making the loose garment cling tightly to the curves of his body. His ensemble was highlighted with bronze accessories: knee-high boots, gloves, and a belt. The little dragon earring that now starred in Harry’s wet dreams was a deep bronze as well, although it was behaving itself much better this evening. Finally, a bronze tiara graced Malfoy’s brow, the deep, rich color of the metal setting off the porcelain perfection of Malfoy’s skin. The entire ensemble flickered through reflections of red and green as pixies danced around Malfoy’s head.

Harry let out a piteous, little whine as he ogled Malfoy’s latest masterpiece.

Ron gave Harry an odd look. “He’s wearing a _tiara_ ,” Ron pointed out.

“I know,” Harry sighed longingly.

“That’s _ridiculous_ ,” Ron insisted.

“I know,” Harry sighed some more.

“You’re _still_ drooling at him.”

“I can’t help myself. He’s _beautiful_!” Harry barely resisted the urge to bang his head on the wall, because Ron was right. Malfoy _should_ be ridiculous, and Harry should be laughing at him with Ron, and not imagining pressing Malfoy against every flat (or semi-flat) surface in the ballroom and _taking_ him in front of everyone present.

“There’s something wrong with you,” Ron informed Harry sympathetically.

“I _know_ ,” Harry gurgled.

***

December Nineteenth: Day Six

By the day of the Ministry Formal Ball, Harry had resigned himself to the fact that Malfoy was going to look like a wet dream, and Harry would just have to save up the images that night so that he could wank off later. After all, Malfoy couldn’t be _that_ much worse than all the Quidditch magazines Harry kept in the bottom drawer beside his bed, could he? As long as Harry kept such distinctions firmly in his mind, there wouldn’t be a problem.

And, true to form, Malfoy was resplendent in robes charmed, this time, to be a light blue as a clear winter’s sky. Every so often a white, wispy cloud would drift across Malfoy’s robes, but for the most part he was spectacularly pale blue. Malfoy had even found some way to spin threads of robin-blue through his hair, so that it looked ever-so-gently frosted. A white, luxuriant, fur mantle was wrapped around Malfoy’s shoulders, so that he could stand out on the balcony with the rest of the guests and watch the fireworks display the Ministry had put on.

Harry tried very hard not to think that the awed “oh” Malfoy made in response to a series of red and gold fireworks that broke into a herd of running deer, could very well be the same face Malfoy would make at the height of passion. Malfoy’s cheeks were even flushed with the cold, lending to the fantasy.

 _Wank fodder for tonight_ , Harry just reminded himself firmly, and the technique really seemed to be working.

And then Malfoy came over to the balcony where Harry was and took the seat right beside him. “Enjoying the festivities so far, Harry?”

Harry refused to have another conversation with Malfoy’s rear-end – he’d had enough of embarrassing himself for one holiday season – so he forced himself to make immediate, intent eye-contact. This, it turned out, was also a mistake.

“Th-They’re blue!” Harry stammered in disbelief, before his brain had a chance to catch up with his mouth.

Malfoy frowned and looked up at the fireworks, which were currently a bright array of greens.

“Y-Your eyes, I mean.” Harry’s brain still hadn’t caught up, it seemed. But it was just so _shocking_. Malfoy’s eyes were a cold blue, the way a husky’s eyes looked.

“Oh, that.” Malfoy said lightly. “Charmed to match my robes for the night, of course.”

“I like your real eyes better.” Harry’s brain was still nowhere near his mouth, but apparently his foot had arrived just in time to stick itself quite squarely inside.

Malfoy’s eyelashes fluttered, and the barest hint of a smile curved his lips. “Why, Harry,” he teased, “was that a compliment?”

Harry’s mouth proceeded to do quite a convincing impression of a haddock. Because, just then, Malfoy’s cheeks were flushed with pink, but it didn’t seem to be from the cold. And the fact that _Harry_ could warm up that icy, arctic exterior…

“I have to use the bathroom!” Harry barely managed to squeak out and _fled_.

***

December Twentieth: Day Seven

After Harry’s nearly spontaneous orgasm the night before, he had half a mind to lock himself in his room for the rest of the week. That night was Hogwarts’ Reunion Christmas Party, though, and Harry had so many old friends he wanted to catch up with, and…

“Oh, quit whining already,” Hermione said wearily. “Honestly, if Malfoy is bothering you this much, I don’t know why you don’t just go up to him and ask him out already!”

Harry sputtered. “I don’t even know if he _likes_ blokes!”

At that, Ron practically choked on the hors d’oeuvre he’d just shoved into his mouth. “ _Seriously_?” he hacked out, while Hermione thumped him on the back. Ron gestured wildly over to where Malfoy stood, surrounded by his former housemates.

Malfoy was wearing a royal-blue, oriental-style tunic, decorated with white peacocks that were charmed to mill about around Malfoy’s slender waistline. Every so often, one of the peacocks would fan its tail out over Malfoy’s back, turning the tunic shockingly white for a few brief moments. Malfoy was wearing form-fitting, white-linen trousers, as well as thigh-high, white, leather boots and white, silk gloves. He turned his head to the side to address Nott, and Harry could see that he was also wearing royal-blue eyeliner.

“What?” Harry asked Ron, baffled.

Ron proceeded to choke on a _second_ hors d’oeuvre.

***

December Twenty-First: Day Eight

The Solstice Formal Ball was the largest gala that had been thrown at Malfoy Manor, to date. For many wizards and witches, the Solstice was still more important than Christmas. As a result, everyone Harry thought he’d ever met in the wizarding world has shown up to the official Ministry party. Old, gnarled wizards told stories of the balls of their youth centuries past, while children ran between the giant fir trees, laughing and playing games. Most wizards and witches of Harry’s age, though, were dancing, because the Solstice was a night of renewal and rebirth – which, of course, was the polite, officially sanctioned way of saying “sex.”

Harry would have obsessed over Malfoy, except that he didn’t have any time. Every witch there knew that Harry was now officially available, and a frighteningly large percentage of wizards seemed to have caught on to the rumors that Harry might not exactly be looking for another woman to fill his bed.

As a result, Harry had been dragged onto the dance floor more times than he could count. Even on the best of days, he wasn’t much of a dancer. As the night wore on, he weighed the merits of becoming a second Dark Lord, just to escape this seemingly endless party.

He finally succeeded in escaping from a brunette witch, only to be captured by a sandy-blond wizard before he could safely flee the dance floor. From there, he bounced between a pair of dark-haired twins, a woman Harry was fairly confident was half ogre, and – strangely enough – Blaise Zabini, who as far as Harry knew was still married.

Avada Kedavra’ing the whole room was looking more appealing by the moment, and when Harry’s dance with a tall, busty witch was interrupted by yet _another_ , “May I cut in?” he groaned aloud.

“Now, Harry,” a disdainful voice scolded him as a pair of firm arms wrapped around him and led him through the next dance, “is that any way to behave around your host?”

“M-Malfoy!” Harry opened his eyes with a start to find the star of all his fantasies in his arms.

Malfoy tsked. “I thought you agreed to call me Draco.”

“ _Draco_ ,” Harry breathed in awe.

Malfoy looked gorgeous as usual. He was wearing silvery-grey robes with a forest-green tunic and trousers underneath. Malfoy’s boots were the same silver-grey color as his robes, and thin vines grew up from the tops, wrapping around Malfoy’s legs, up his torso, and encircling his arms. Malfoy was wearing a matching crown of silver vines around his brow. Harry suddenly felt very in the spirit of renewing the year, especially if he got to do it with the forest nymph Malfoy so resembled.

“You looked tired, so I thought I’d come save you,” Malfoy continued, his tone slightly teasing and slightly haughty all at the same time.

“By more dancing?” Harry retorted.

Malfoy stepped in close. “Just lean on me,” he breathed against Harry’s ear.

Harry felt shivers run up and down his spine and very willingly did as Malfoy asked. Malfoy was warm and solid, and he smelled of something exotic, expensive, and delicious. For a few precious moments, it felt as if it were just the two of them in the whole, wide world.

Then, Harry felt the faintest hint of a tickle and soft wetness against his earlobe. He jerked his head up with a start, only to find the dragon earring Malfoy wore flicking its tongue out at Harry teasingly.

“Hmm?” Malfoy looked at Harry lazily, like he, too, had been caught up in the spell of the Solstice.

Harry’s cheeks flushed, and the two of them came to a halt in the middle of the dance floor. An awkward pause followed, in which Harry tried to think of a way to explain that Malfoy’s earring had been necking with him without sounding ridiculous, and then Harry heard those dreaded words once more:

“Mind if I cut in?”

Before Harry could scream that he most certainly _did_ mind, he and Malfoy had been whisked off in opposite directions.

Harry sighed. It was going to be a very long night.

***

December Twenty-Second: Day Nine

Last night, Harry had almost gone through with it. He’d stayed late at the party, hoping to catch Malfoy as he was leaving, whisk Malfoy up to his bed, and…well, you know. Harry had still been firm in his resolution (and certain other places) at 2AM. And then at 3, and…

By the time it was almost 5AM, and Malfoy still had a half-dozen guests remaining, Harry had finally fallen asleep in his chair beside one of the lavish Christmas trees.

He’d woken up at well past two in the afternoon, in the bed of his guestroom in Malfoy Manor, still wearing his formal robes. A part of Harry wanted to believe that Malfoy himself had carried Harry up to bed, but families like the Malfoys had house-elves and levitation spells for that sort of thing.

What it all meant was that Harry was cranky and underslept for the private party for the Ministry department heads that evening. He threw on a different, unwrinkled set of formal robes, sat in his chair at the grand dining table, and _sulked_ through the whole dinner.

Malfoy was resplendent, of course, in sleek, silver robes, embroidered with rainbow-colored sea serpents, which emerged from the silver fabric of the robe like they were cresting over the surface of the ocean before diving back down again. They were beautiful and entrancing, and Malfoy was beautiful and entrancing, but it wasn’t _enough_ for Harry anymore.

Harry sat and grumbled one-word responses to the head of Dark Artifacts and realized, for the first time, that Malfoy _wasn’t_ just wank-fodder. Harry didn’t want to picture this distant vision of perfection just to get himself off on cold nights; he wanted the Malfoy from the Ministry Formal Ball, who had blushed under the fireworks when Harry’s praise warmed him from within, and the Malfoy from last night, who was warm and solid and mischievous in Harry’s arms. In short, Harry wanted the _actual_ Malfoy, and having to spend a formal evening reduced to a distant spectator was an unpleasant experience.

After far too much brooding, Harry tapped his wand against the napkin three times, whispered an incantation, and began to trace the words of a message along the white cloth.

Halfway down the table, Ron felt a sudden tingling sensation that was all too familiar from their schooldays when they’d passed notes in class. He looked down at his lap to see Harry’s message appear in bold, black letters on his own napkin:

_Want to ask Malfoy out. Please advise._

Ron managed a pleasant smile and nod to the Ministry’s centaur liaison, while writing back in his lap:

_You’ve lost your mind. Seek medical help._

A few seconds later, Harry returned:

_He makes me feel warm inside._

Ron replied:

_EWW! Didn’t need to know that!_

_I didn’t mean it that way!_

_Can’t this wait until later?_

_I THINK I’M IN LOVE!_

Ron stared at that last message for a good, solid minute. The Ministry centaur liaison was hopelessly offended, which was the _last_ thing Ron needed right before their year-end paperwork.

***

December Twenty-Third: Day Ten

“I dreamed about the robes he was wearing last night,” Harry sighed on the sofa in Ron and Hermione’s guest suite. “The sea serpents swam around his arse and formed the words, ‘Take me! I’m yours!’”

“Er…” Ron said awkwardly.

Hermione rolled her eyes at them both. “Honestly! _Boys_! You never grow up!”

“What should I do?” Harry groaned.

“The sensible thing is obviously to tell Malfoy about your feelings and see if he reciprocates,” Hermione concluded, fussing with her hair in the mirror.

“But it’s _Malfoy_!” Ron protested.

“What he said!” Harry agreed.

Hermione applied her lipstick and gave her lips a good smack. “Look,” she said, “either you’re interested in Malfoy – _despite_ the fact that he’s Malfoy – or you’re not. Pick one, and stick to it. It’s not that hard.” She put her lipstick back in her purse. “I’m ready to go, Ron.”

Ron shrugged at Harry. “I suppose she’s right,” he agreed sheepishly and offered Hermione his arm.

“Have a nice night out,” Harry wished them well and watched them go with a sigh.

That was his second problem: It was the night before Christmas Eve, so no formal events were planned in order to give Ministry officials some time for themselves and their families during the busy holiday season. Ron and Hermione had booked a romantic dinner at a very posh restaurant. Harry _could_ go back to the Burrow, of course, but George and Angelina had just gotten engaged, and Ginny would be bringing home her new boyfriend from Denmark, and… Well, there were a lot of happy couples, and Harry would be the odd man out.

So, in the end, Harry had two choices. He could either sulk around Malfoy Manor alone, or he could muster up the courage to knock on Malfoy’s door. Despite Harry’s general indecisiveness regarding Malfoy, Harry had never lacked for courage.

In fact, he probably had too much of it, which was why he found himself outside Malfoy’s door a little before suppertime.

“Who is it?” Malfoy called through the door snootily.

Harry suddenly felt very silly for being there. “Me? Uh, Harry, that is. Potter. Harry Potter.”

The door instantly opened to reveal that Malfoy had, apparently, just gotten out of the bath. Harry blushed to what felt like the tips of his ears at the sight of a wet, steamy Malfoy clad in nothing but white, fluffy towels.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Of course, you’re busy. I—” Harry stammered.

At the same time, Malfoy babbled. “Come in! I’m sorry I wasn’t expecting you, but if you’ll wait just a moment, I—”

They both paused awkwardly.

“Er?” Harry said.

“Come in,” Malfoy insisted and held the door open wide.

That was how Harry found himself sitting on Malfoy’s very-expensive-looking, black, leather sofa in Malfoy’s obscenely large and elaborate sitting room, while Malfoy himself was _naked_ in the adjacent dressing room. Harry tried to admire the fine woodworking or the art or even the shelves of books, but no matter what he did, he ended up picturing Malfoy’s bare skin, still damp and perfectly clean from the bath. Harry wondered if Malfoy liked to have water droplets licked from his porcelain skin. That was one task Harry would be more than happy to volunteer for.

Harry had nearly gotten stupid enough to go ask, when Malfoy emerged from his dressing room wearing…not much. Harry gawked.

Malfoy had foregone getting properly dressed and instead was wearing a dressing-gown of white fur. It had long sleeves, but was very, very short on the bottom. So short, in fact, that Harry thought that he might be able to spot Malfoy’s balls, if Malfoy moved _just_ right.

“I hope you don’t mind my informal attire,” Malfoy said smoothly and sat on the sofa beside Harry. The bathrobe shifted along his upper thigh, and Harry couldn’t help but glance down. Unfortunately, the fur stopped riding up _just before_ Malfoy’s bits would have been exposed. “It’s been a bit of an ordeal arranging my wardrobe these past two weeks, and I thought I’d take the day off.”

“N-Not at all.” Harry felt dizzy from the speed the blood was rushing from his head to certain other portions of his anatomy.

“I am glad you stopped by, though.” Malfoy fluttered his eyelashes in a way that was downright coy. He shifted in his seat, and the fur neckline of his bathrobe dropped an inch to expose more of the creamy skin of his chest and shoulder.

“I…” Harry had suddenly forgotten why he was there in the first place. His mouth really _wanted_ to say, _“Can I lick your balls all night long?”_ but some lingering remains of Harry’s sanity told him that just wasn’t a proper thing to say to one’s host.

“Are you going out for supper tonight?” Malfoy asked.

That jogged Harry’s memory. “Oh, right. Um, no. Ron and Hermione left me on my own, and I was actually wondering if…uh…” It seemed like a rather illogical train of thought now. After all, Malfoy had dozens of houseguests. Why would he want to spend the evening alone with Harry anyway? Harry felt the sudden urge to kick himself.

Malfoy’s cheeks flushed slightly, though, so maybe Harry wasn’t a complete idiot. “You’re welcome to spend the night with me. Er,” Malfoy’s face suddenly got much redder, “that is, I was planning to eat supper in tonight. But you could join me. For supper.”

“Right,” Harry nodded. “Supper.”

“Good.” Malfoy was still blushing, but he got himself under control enough to summon one of the house-elves.

The food was nothing fancy, just sandwiches. Harry didn’t really care, though, because he didn’t taste a bite of it. He was too busy playing peek-a-boo with Malfoy’s balls under that bathrobe. Harry thought he might have caught a glimpse just once, or maybe he had just gotten so horny he was hallucinating.

“Have you been enjoying your stay?” Malfoy tried to make small talk.

 _“Can I suck your cock for dessert?”_ Harry’s brain unhelpfully provided. “Er…yes?” he practically squeaked.

Malfoy snorted. “Don’t sound so sure of yourself, Potter. I mean, _Harry_ ,” he hastily corrected.

“No, I mean,” Harry began to ramble and just hoped that he’d be able to steer his words clear of Malfoy’s silky thighs, “it’s been great, thanks. For hosting. And everything. Especially for trying to save me at the Solstice Ball. Although there was probably no point in that. I mean, I guess I was pretty much doomed. Going to that single and all. But thanks. Even though, you know, tomorrow night’s ball will probably be worse. And…stuff?” Harry ran that through his head one more time and breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t mentioned Malfoy’s balls. Who cared if he sounded like an idiot? At least he’d stuck to his most important objective!

Malfoy looked vaguely amused at Harry’s speech. “There is a solution to that.” He leaned in close to Harry as if he was about to whisper a secret. The white fur fell completely off one shoulder, baring it to Harry’s hungry gaze.

“W-What’s that?” Harry was exceptionally proud that he could form a coherent sentence at that point.

Malfoy’s voice dropped to a low, husky whisper. “Don’t go to tomorrow’s ball alone.”

Harry let out a nervous bark of laughter. “I doubt I’ll be able to find a date this late,” he pointed out.

“Oh?” Malfoy raised one immaculately sculpted eyebrow.

Harry’s brain froze.

Malfoy sighed and sat back on his side of the sofa. Absently, he pulled his fur bathrobe back onto his shoulder.

Harry practically whimpered at the loss.

“Well,” Malfoy said, clipped and curt all of a sudden, “it’s been lovely, but I really must prepare for tomorrow evening and—”

“Hey, Malfoy?” Harry’s brain slowly began to thaw.

“Yes?” Malfoy demanded icily.

“Er, _Draco_ , I mean.” Harry tried not to think too much about the fact that Malfoy hadn’t corrected Harry for the first time since the holidays had begun, and soldiered on. “I don’t suppose… Do _you_ have a date for tomorrow night?”

Malfoy gaped at him.

“Oh, right.” Harry tried to laugh it off. “Of course, you would. A bloke as gorgeous as you. Plus, you’re the host on top of everything, and—”

Malfoy made a strange wheezing sound that cut Harry’s ramble off.

“You all right?” Harry asked Malfoy quizzically.

Malfoy shook his head. “No, Harry,” he said very slowly. “I do not have a date for tomorrow night, as I have not had a date for the rest of the festivities, either.”

Harry’s cheeks flushed. “Oh. Right.”

Malfoy coughed pointedly.

“Oh,” Harry repeated, “ _right_! So, do you want to be my date tomorrow?”

Malfoy nodded vigorously. His bathrobe was in danger of slipping again.

Harry leaned in to catch the soft fur before it could fall. _“I am touching Malfoy!”_ Harry’s downstairs-brain provided. _“Now quick! Lick his balls!”_ Harry shook the thought away.

“All right, then,” Harry concluded with a small smile. “I’ll come by to pick you up around five?”

Malfoy blushed. “Make it four. I have to arrive early to greet my guests.”

“Four,” Harry breathed and leaned in close. The fur of Malfoy’s bathrobe brushed against his cheek erotically as he moved in for—

“Right.” Malfoy practically leapt back. “You’d best be on your way, then.”

Harry looked up at Malfoy, wide-eyed and bewildered. He couldn’t quite process why they weren’t wrestling together naked at this very moment.

“If you’re going to be my date,” Malfoy explained, “I’ll have to look my best, won’t I?” And, with that, he kicked Harry out of his chambers quite firmly.

Nevertheless, all Harry could do, when he thought about Malfoy, was _grin_.

***

December Twenty-Fourth: Day Eleven

Harry knocked on Malfoy’s door for the Formal Christmas Eve Yule Ball a good fifteen minutes early. It would have been much more, if Ron and Hermione hadn’t sensibly held Harry back. Strangely enough, their protests that Malfoy probably didn’t have any clothes on yet didn’t discourage Harry. Completely baffling, that.

Even though Harry still arrived early, Malfoy was most definitely dressed when Harry arrived, and then some. It seemed that Malfoy hadn’t been exaggerating about looking his best that evening.

Malfoy’s formal robes were pure white and sparkled in the light like freshly fallen snow. In fact, as Harry watched, a stray snowflake or two fell down the length of Malfoy’s body, like flurries on a cold, winter’s night. Glittering white frost was spun through Malfoy’s hair as well, making it look even more ethereally white than usual. It wasn’t just the hair on the top of Malfoy’s head, either, but also his eyelashes and brows. It seemed that each and every individual hair was made of snow that night. Malfoy was wearing lipstick of the same frosted color so that he looked like some sort of winter spirit, cold to the core. A crystalline wreath circled Malfoy’s head and, at the very center, a perfectly round moonstone graced Malfoy’s brow.

Harry gaped at the otherworldly figure before him.

Malfoy offered one hand for Harry to take. The sleeves under his robes were sheer, overlaid with sparkling white fabric in a pattern like that of ice crystals on a windowpane. Silver fairies darted about Malfoy as he did so, like they’d been charmed to follow him around for the evening and make the snow on his robes twinkle.

Harry hesitated for a moment. Malfoy looked bitter cold, alien, and untouchable. Then, Harry slowly reached out to take Malfoy’s hand and found Malfoy warm and alive beneath the frosty exterior.

“I’ll take that fish-faced look as a compliment, then,” Malfoy teased and threaded his arm fully through Harry’s. “You look very handsome yourself.”

Harry tried to wrap his mind around that, but he was just _Harry_ , in simple – albeit expensive – black dress-robes he’d ordered a few weeks back. That the creature before him could find _Harry_ attractive was almost impossible to comprehend.

“Shall we?” Malfoy smirked, obviously quite pleased with Harry’s flabbergasted reaction.

Harry nodded numbly, and they went to the ball arm-in-arm. They created quite a stir, of course, both for Malfoy’s spectacular attire and for the fact that they had clearly come together. Harry hadn’t really thought of the implications of coming out publicly with Malfoy, but now Harry was glad he had because, whenever any of the guests admired Malfoy’s beauty just a bit too much, Harry could press a possessive hand into the small of Malfoy’s back and guide Malfoy away.

There was no comparing that night to any other. Harry and Malfoy danced with each other almost entirely exclusively the entire night. Sometimes Harry led, and other times Malfoy did, and Harry discovered that – when it was with Malfoy – Harry didn’t mind dancing the night away at all. Their bodies fit fluidly together, and at one point Malfoy’s lips brushed Harry’s ear, and Harry nearly tripped over his own two feet when lust surged through him.

“Tired?” Malfoy teased.

“Not in the slightest,” Harry practically growled.

Thankfully, the Christmas Eve Ball – unlike the Solstice Ball – had a definite end at midnight. Most of Malfoy’s houseguests would be headed home that night as well, since Christmas was to be spent with family, after all.

“You’ll spend the night, then?” Malfoy asked coyly.

Harry’s hand dropped to Malfoy’s arse, and he led Malfoy into a deep dip, which somehow didn’t turn into a complete disaster the way Harry’s usually did, undoubtedly due to Malfoy’s natural grace.

Midnight didn’t come nearly soon enough, and by the time the last of Malfoy’s guests departed, Harry was aching with need.

Malfoy smirked and held out a hand for Harry, guiding him back up to Malfoy’s rooms.

“I’m impressed, you know,” Malfoy commented casually as they stepped into Malfoy’s sitting room.

“About what?” Harry pressed up behind Malfoy and nuzzled Malfoy’s downy-soft hair.

“Most people, when faced with a finely wrapped present, wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to rip the wrapping paper off.”

Harry ripped. What was underneath the wrapping paper was just as fine and very, very eager.

***

December Twenty-Fifth: Day Twelve

On Christmas Day, Malfoy wore nothing at all, all day long. Harry found that he liked Malfoy that way best of all.

The End.


End file.
